


In the Eye of the Beholder

by Lipstickcat



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Hobbit Kink Meme, Kink Meme, M/M, dwarvish ideals of beauty, younger dwarf/older dwarf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:12:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lipstickcat/pseuds/Lipstickcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the Hobbit Kink Meme for this prompt:</p>
<p>
  <i>"The younger Dwarves in the group grew up in mixed-race environments, and grew up with many different kinds of ideas about physical beauty. They don't even know if they're ugly or handsome or cute or whatever it's called.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>So when they get together with one of the older generation of Dwarf, they tell them exactly what makes them so nice to look at, one trait after the other.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>(I prefer Ori/Dwalin, but could be Fíli or Kíli with someone else as well.)"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eye of the Beholder

Ori always thought that if there was one thing that he was good at, it was observing. Most of his memories were of life in the Blue Mountains, where he watched his own kin try to fit in with the ways of men. While other dwarves struggled to find a place, labouring, working mines or forges, shoeing horses or turning their craft from toy making to woodwork, Ori chose to study sewing, account making and banking. 

He never fit though. Men were happy for the dwarves to do the hard and dangerous jobs, but they didn’t trust one to turn their hand to a skill that dwarves weren’t known for, preferring to keep that work for their own kind. In turn, Ori didn’t know if he could do the work set aside for dwarves. He had no mentor and the physical work took more then just observing or book reading to master. 

Dori did what he could, but Ori felt that sometimes his older brother pretended not to know about forges and mechanical woodworking, because he didn’t want Ori to fall into the life of slaving for men. So Ori knitted hats, scarves, mittens, throws, and his brother sold them. Sometimes Nori would come home with some gold that Dori would refuse to discuss with him, but spent all the same. 

Ori wrote, and he observed. And he felt the invisible barrier between him and men and dwarves alike grow thicker. 

The quest started to smash down that wall. Little chips in the divider had already started to appear by the time they reached Bag End, just from small interactions with others on the road. And then in that place there were more of his kind, and they were loud and raucous and didn’t treat him as if he had never experienced a true dwarrow life. The cracks appeared and pieces began to fall. 

And then a war hammer swung and smashed a huge hole in it all. 

Dwalin treated him in a way he’d never known before. He was everything Dori was not, and as much as he loved his brother, Ori revelled in the warrior’s company. Sometimes he even forgot to observe from the edges and instead found himself floundering in waters that seemed too deep for him, until Dwalin was there suddenly at his side and gave him strength to forge on ahead until he reached the other side. 

The first time that Dwalin kissed him came as a surprise, but Dwalin made him want to try things and not sit on the sidelines watching, so he made a soft noise and kissed back. He slept that night peaceful and happy, curled against the older dwarf’s stomach, with Dwalin lying on his side, an arm cast protectively over him. 

It wasn’t until the next day that things started to sink in. Ori walked between his brothers, gaze cast ahead to where Dwalin and Thorin discussed important matters. He didn’t hear a word of what either brother said, his mind on the previous night and what it meant, what he was supposed to do now. 

He knew virtually nothing of dwarf courtship; either it was a private affair, or he hadn’t been as observant as he would have liked to think. Men though, he had seen their courting all too often. They were shameless and open about their advances towards women, making their intentions clear and public. 

The more he thought about it, the heavier his heart became. By that evening, it felt like a leaden weight in his stomach. He barely ate and sat away from both Dwalin and his brothers, instead sitting with Oin and Gloin, who didn’t badger him to eat more, nor talk with him very much at all. Later, he took his bedroll to the edge of the camp and while Dori looked at him with a pained expression his brother didn’t insist that he come lie with him tonight. 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

Ori stiffened at the deep voice behind him, but he wasn’t surprised, he knew that he would have to face Dwalin eventually. 

“No. Not you. I am the one that did you wrong.” 

The fine gravel underfoot crunched as the large dwarf sat down on it and placed a hand on Ori’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and begged Mahal to leave him be, before rolling over. He looked up into the concern written across Dwalin’s face and it was enough to make that weight in his stomach double. 

“I am sorry, I should have made it clear to you.” He continued as Dwalin’s confusion increased and Ori cursed his small frame and lack of muscle. “I am male.” 

“That, I know.” 

Ori frowned, now he was confused. He remembered watching men as they swarmed after women, sometimes even physically fighting for ones they considered the greatest beauties. 

“Don’t you want to pursue a female dwarf?” 

“Why would I, when I like you?” There was amusement in Dwalin’s voice as he bent to kiss Ori. Relief spread through him, lightening the load he’d been carrying and making room for Ori to realise he was now very hungry. 

\---

The following night found them making camp on a ragged outcrop. It was sheltered, the lay of the stones making alcoves almost like rooms that the dwarves could light their own small fires in and enjoy a night without the wind and rain battering down on them. 

Ori found himself sharing with Dwalin, benefiting from a private fire to warm them as they enjoyed one another’s company. They talked, Dwalin of battles and sights he’d seen in his travels, Ori of things he’d learned and his hopes for the future. They kissed freely without the worry of the company’s eyes on them. 

When Dwalin’s hand caressed Ori’s front, the scribe tried not to think about it. But then the action was repeated, and it became clear that it wasn’t accidental. Fear gripped Ori and he pulled away abruptly. He kept his head down, unable to meet the other’s eyes as he heard Dwalin sigh heavily. 

“What is it?” 

Ori wrung his hands together as that heavy feeling returned, this time leaving him feeling sick as well. 

“I don’t want to be a disappointment to you. I don’t know why you like me so.”

There was a hint of amusement in the larger dwarf’s voice as he asked: “Why would you disappoint me?” 

“I am not beautiful at all.” Ori turned his eyes up to Dwalin’s gaze and they were heavy with sadness. “Not by anybody’s standards.” 

“Says who?” Dwalin cupped his chin and leaned in to kiss him, but the young dwarf pulled away again. 

“I’m not female. I’m not tall, nor slim. My curves are in the wrong places.” He patted his stomach, thinking about how men sang the praises of women with _curves in all the right places_. “My skin isn’t flawless like the elves, and my nose is so big!” 

Before Dwalin could speak, Ori pressed on, turning his thoughts to the few things he considered handsome on dwarves. “I’m not strong, my body is frail and weak. My beard is short and scraggly; I can’t even grow a proper moustache. I’m a poor fighter and make an even poorer excuse for a dwarf.”

Dwalin was silent a while, regarding Ori in the flickering firelight until it was almost too much to bear. Ori twisted and turned his hands in his lap, imagining how Dwalin was finally seeing the truth of it and realising what a blind fool he had been. Any moment now, the hammer would drop again, and this time it would knock into place the first stone to rebuild the wall between him and the life he’d grown to love. 

“I think your nose is the perfect fit for your face.” The words the deep voice carried were surprising, but Ori still waited for the sting that he was sure would follow. “And your skin has character, the marks of one that feels and shows it, that smiles and frowns and has known the joy of the sun, the beat of the weather. Some po-faced elf will never have as beautiful a face as yours.” 

He shifted forwards again his hand cupping Ori’s face. He saw the smile on Dwalin’s lips before he moved so close that their foreheads and noses touched. 

“You are young and you have many years for your beard and moustache to grow in yet, and in the meantime, your youth is an attractive quality to old warriors like me.” He kissed him lightly, playfully teasing him with his own bushy moustache by rubbing it over his upper lip.

Pulling away slightly, he kissed the tip of his nose and along the length until he reached his brow. 

“Your hair is thick and bushy and I’ve been waiting patiently to be allowed to bury my hands in it, to unbraid your hair and then braid it again.” He scrapped his callused palm over his own bald head. “It’s been an age since I had hair to braid, and I know it’s a sorry sight for a dwarf.” 

“Oh no!” It was Ori’s turn to cry out now, not believing that Dwalin could ever feel insecure about any part of him. “I love your head, your tattoos are fascinating and I’ve been wanting to touch them!” 

Raising his eyebrows, Dwalin nodded and bowed his head. Ori felt light headed as he traced his index finger over the design. He hesitated before daring to lean in and press a kiss to the taut, smooth skin, surprised by the heat under his lips. 

“I’ve wanted to ask you the meaning of the design…” He commented as Dwalin lifted his head again. 

“Another time, laddie. I’m not done talking about you yet.” 

Ori blinked at Dwalin, but smiled, too. What more could there be to say about him? Slowly, as if he were afraid to startle Ori, Dwalin leaned in closer and gently unwound the length of scarf from around the younger dwarf’s neck. His fingers brushed lightly over Ori’s neck, blunt nails scraping his flesh in a ticklish caress and disturbing the near-adolescent sprouting of coarse hair that was scattered beneath his jaw. When Ori didn’t pull away, Dwalin moved his attention to unbuckling his belt and then working down the toggles that fastened his coat. All the while, his attention remained on the scribe, eye contact deep and mesmerising, holding Ori breathless and even though the protection of his layered clothing was being removed and soon Dwalin would see his scrawny, pot bellied frame, he didn’t protest any further. He trusted Dwalin, and he trusted his words. 

“Ah…” Finally, the warrior looked down, opening Ori’s coat wide and pushing it from his shoulders as Dwalin’s gaze roved over his chest and stomach. Ori flinched but managed to restrain himself from covering back up. 

“Hush, calm yourself, laddie.” Dwalin’s eyes flickered back to his face for a moment, imploring and impossibly dark. Ori had witnessed that expression before; on Bombur’s face back when he had seen the pantry at Bag End. “I’ve been waiting to see you without all these layers of wool disguising your form; it’s not disappointing in the slightest.” A broad hand caressed over his chest, before sweeping over the bulge of his stomach. “You are well nourished, Ori. Healthy. I can tell that you have plenty of energy, stored and ready to give you stamina during battle, or other things.” 

Ori sucked in his lower lip and worried it with his teeth. Heat burnt his cheeks in bright spots at what Dwalin was implying, promising. 

“I’m no good in a battle. I’m too weak to carry a weapon and swing it with any force.” 

A single, wet, sharp sound came from Dwalin as he clucked his tongue in a tut and shook his head. One hand remained on Ori’s stomach, sweeping over the incline of it down to his hip, the other raising to cup Ori’s face again. 

“Many dwarves can swing a blade or hammer. They can swing and swing and swing. And they keep on doing it until they swing when they should have blocked and then they’ll swing no more. You have a sharp mind that you exercise regularly, and an eye for detail. Your aim with your slingshot is exceptional; I would wager that you could be a bowman, like Kili. Long distance fighters are rare amongst dwarves, and invaluable.” 

He leaned in and kissed Ori, before making a deep, amused sound. Still close to the other dwarf, his breath was warm against Ori’s lips as he spoke again. “But if you would like to learn close combat, I would be happy to train you. I’ll teach you to swing my war hammer and you’ll soon build up some muscles. If that’s what you desire to have. Your build is already perfect to me.” 

Ori smiled against Dwalin’s cheek, turning his face to return some of the overwhelming affection that had been shown to him. Moving back, he regarded Dwalin and reached out to trace his own finger over the deep ridged scar that ran over his brow. As he crossed the hollow of his eye, Dwalin didn’t blink, just continued to gaze at his young lover with complete trust while Ori’s fingertip brushed his eyelashes and then rejoined the line dashed across his nose. Did Dwalin ever doubt how much he appealed to Ori? Ori had grown up with foreign ideals of beauty, all soft, supple, flawless skin and coy smiles. 

How could anyone doubt how he felt about Dwalin, about how perfect he was? It seemed silly, now, that Ori had ever doubted the warrior and his own feelings. 

“I would like that, yes. It would be lovely. Thank you, Dwalin.” He leaned in and kissed the bridge of the older dwarf’s nose, before his hands set about undressing the warrior. Now it was his turn to tell Dwalin all the things that he loved about him.


End file.
